


New Year's Trauma (previously "Barson fanfic #3")

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: A New Year's Eve walk in the park turns into a struggle for survival for Benson and Barba.





	New Year's Trauma (previously "Barson fanfic #3")

Benson paused inside the doorway, letting the noise of the place settle over her. Everyone was talking loudly, too loudly, fighting to be heard over everyone else. The laughter was loud, too, and so was the music. Only the televisions were muted, with subtitles playing across the bottom; there was no way they could compete with the cacophony of the bar.

At the back of the room, two tables had been pushed together, and she saw Rollins and Carisi sitting on the far side, their backs to the wall, and started toward them. As she drew nearer and could see through the throngs of people, she caught sight of Barba at the end of the makeshift table. There were several empty seats between him and the two detectives, and most of that table space was covered in folders and papers. Barba was bent over a legal pad, scribbling furiously, but he looked up when she was a few yards away.

She smiled, and his lips quirked in response.

“We’re glad you’re here, Liv,” Rollins said. “Could you please tell him to put his homework away?”

“I mean, really, the trial starts in two days,” Carisi said. “You know those depositions backward and—”

“’To be prepared is half the victory,’” Barba interrupted, returning his attention to his notes.

“Teddy Roosevelt?” Carisi guessed.

“No, isn’t that the Boy Scouts?” Rollins said, grinning.

Barba made a sound of impatience, scratching out a line and writing something above it. “ _Cervantes_ ,” he said. “More importantly, I don’t like surprises.”

Benson hung her coat on the back of the chair next to Barba’s and he glanced sideways as she sat beside him. “Really, Barba, it’s New Year’s Eve,” she said.

“Did everything go alright?” he asked. He was looking at his notes, but his pen was held loosely and a frown was creasing his forehead. He’d been distracted from his train of thought.

“Yes, perfect,” Benson answered. “Noah gave her a tour—when I left, he had a stack of books he was going to read to her.”

“He’s a smart kid, he _should_ be proud.” He set his pen down and reached for the furthest stacks of papers, pulling them together into one pile.

“Are you sure she doesn’t mind?” Benson asked, helping him gather the paperwork.

“Are you kidding?” Barba returned with a laugh. “She was teaching him the word _abuelita_ before you were in a cab, I guarantee it.” He looked up at her, his eyes bright with humor.

Benson smiled, but before she could respond, she saw—from the corner of her eye—Rollins and Carisi exchange a look. Lifting a hand to stall their speculation, she told them, “Barba’s mother is sitting with Noah tonight.”

“That’s nice,” Rollins said. “Wish I’d known, I could’ve dropped Jesse off and saved myself fifty bucks.”

“You pay a sitter fifty bucks a night?” Carisi asked.

Benson turned her attention back to Barba and found him regarding her. She shifted, feeling a little defensive. She wasn’t in the mood to be scrutinized—she wasn’t in the mood to socialize, either, but she hadn’t been able to bail on her friends—her squad—her _family_ —on New Year’s.

“You okay?” Barba asked, quietly, tipping his head toward her.

She pointed at his shirt. His suit jacket was slung over the back of his chair, with his winter coat over it; he was wearing a white shirt, but his tie and suspenders were pink. “You haven’t been home?” His sleeves were rolled up, neatly, evenly. His collar was unbuttoned, his tie loosened. His jaw was rough with salt and pepper stubble.

“No, I got here early to go over some things. Then they showed up,” he added, with a quick jerk of his head toward Rollins and Carisi, who were involved in their own conversation.

Benson turned partway toward Barba; their knees were nearly touching beneath the table. “You know you don’t need to color coordinate,” she said. “No one can see your suspenders when you’re in court.”

He put his elbow on the papers before him, propping his cheek on his fist. He grinned at her. “I know they’re there,” he said, his eyes sparkling when she smiled in return.

“You know what they say about vanity,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Jane Austen said ‘a person may be proud without being vain,’ and before you start quoting Carly Simon, I do _not_ gavotte.”

Her grin widening, she said, “Oh, I bet you do.”

“I do, actually. Like nobody’s business,” he smirked.

Benson laughed, shaking her head.

“Besides, ‘vanity is my favorite sin.’”

“Did you just quote the _devil_?” Carisi asked from the other end of the table.

Barba cast him only the briefest of glances. “Al Pacino, technically,” he said, suddenly straightening in his chair to gather his paperwork the rest of the way into a stack.

“That’s quite a glimpse into your psyche, Counselor,” Rollins said with a grin.

“‘The knowledge of yourself will preserve you from vanity,’” Barba murmured, retrieving his briefcase from the floor and sliding his stack of paperwork inside. He looked up at Rollins and Carisi. “Cervantes,” he said.

While Rollins shook her head in amused disbelief, Carisi tapped his knuckles on the table and pointed at Barba. “Nice play, Rafael,” he said, grinning.

“Where’s Fin?” Benson asked, glancing at her watch as Barba stowed his briefcase beside the table leg.

“He texted a while ago to say he and Melinda were stuck in traffic,” Carisi shrugged. “But, you know.”

Benson nodded. She tried not to acknowledge the flair of annoyance that she felt. It wasn’t Fin’s fault—even if the traffic thing was just an excuse. He was under no obligation to spend his New Year’s Eve with the men and women he saw every day at work. He was on a date with Melinda, and they should spend their time how they wanted. He’d worked long enough, and hard enough—even though he’d deny the accusation—to deserve it. They all had.

“Liv,” Barba said. The bar was loud, and his voice was quiet, but he was leaning forward to better read her expression and she had no trouble hearing him.

“I’m just wondering if I should’ve stayed home,” she admitted. “Have a nice, quiet night in, watch the countdown on TV and hope we don’t get a call.”

“It’s not too late,” he murmured, and she looked down at the light touch of his fingers at her wrist. Her stomach fluttered. “Turn your phone off. Make some popcorn, cuddle up on the couch with your son under a blanket, welcome in the new year together—it’s a memory he’ll keep forever.”

She swallowed and forced her eyes up to his. “That sounds nice,” she said, but it wasn’t her son with whom she was imagining snuggling under a blanket on the sofa. As their gazes locked and held, she saw his expression soften, and felt his thumb trace a light pattern on her wrist. He could read her thoughts, her feelings, as well as if she’d spoken them aloud. The corners of his eyes crinkled, but the smile that curved his lips was small, meant for no one but her.

“That sounds nice,” he murmured in agreement.

She covered his hand on hers and cocked her head. “How did we get here, Rafa?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, lifting one shoulder; she could see the emotion in every line of his familiar face. He didn’t try to hide his feelings. When they were together, they could always be themselves. They might not say everything they wanted to say, but they hid nothing. It wasn’t secrets, held in their silences, but truths.

“Life’s all about timing,” he said. “Five years ago, I requested a transfer to Manhattan—I don’t know where I’d be right now if I hadn’t made that move, if I hadn’t met you, but I can say that _you_ , Lieutenant Benson, came into my life exactly when I needed you the most.”

She nodded, feeling tears stinging her eyes, and tightened her grip on his hand. She’d been in a bad place, mentally, emotionally, and physically, when ADA Barba had come striding, without warning, into her life—a smirk on his face and a cheesy pickup line on his tongue—a man who seemed to be a walking contradiction, an impossible combination of hard edges, steely resolve, and an openhearted desire to be a force of good in the world. His desire for justice was unmatched; his willingness to go to the mat for every victim made him a unique and invaluable ally.

She never had to doubt whether or not they were on the same side; even when they disagreed, she trusted him, trusted that his moral compass was always his guide, trusted that he would always fight for the truth, trusted that he would always have her back. Noah and Barba had both come into her life when she needed them, and they had each changed her in different, but no less profound, ways.

He had been everything she needed, at every turn: ally, fighter, counsellor, confidant, a stern voice when she needed one and a listening ear when she needed that more. He’d been a source of light in dark days, a source of goodness in a cruel world, a source of strength when she felt her weakest, and he had become, without her even noticing, the most important adult in her life.

He’d been everything she needed, but she’d come to want more. Every adult relationship she’d ever had in her life—friends, boyfriends, partners—every one of them had eventually fallen apart, crumbling through her fingers when she tried to hold on. She’d done her best to convince herself that she didn’t need anyone, had done her best to accept that she wasn’t a person built for accepting unconditional love. She’d been betrayed, time and time again, by the people to whom she’d given the most of herself, the people she trusted. She’d forgiven them, taking the blame instead onto herself, convinced that she’d pushed them away—convinced that she was too broken to deserve them.

For the first time in her life, after meeting the boy that would become her son, she’d realized what unconditional love _really_ was, and since then she’d been tested in every way, personally, professionally, physically, she’d faced death and suffered loss, felt her greatest joys and her biggest sorrows, she’d fought for her life with the thought of Noah to give her strength.

And through everything, every high and low, win and loss, through every fight, Barba had been there, by her side or behind her, with her in her thoughts when he couldn’t actually be beside her. He could read her moods, he could make her laugh or cry, he could bring out the fight in her when she couldn’t bring it out of herself. He asked for nothing that she couldn’t give.

Most importantly, he knew it, all of it. Everything in their lives had conspired to bring them together at the time when they needed each other the most. He knew what he meant to her, and he knew that someday, they would talk about it. Someday, they would ask each other for more. He was the one person who would never quit on her, would never disappear from her life.

He knew it all, and he smiled, giving her hand a squeeze. “Go home, Liv,” he said. “My mother will get over the disappointment. You don’t owe anyone anything,” he added, giving her a pointed look.

Several other cops had joined the table, and when Benson glanced around, she caught Rollins’s eye, and the blonde detective smiled. Barba was right—Benson wasn’t doing anyone any favors by showing up when she didn’t really want to be there. She nodded, but she didn’t want to go home, either, not yet.

She looked at Barba again.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“Don’t you want to stay?” she asked, her lips twitching in a smile.

He arched a brow. “I prefer to be able to hear myself think,” he said. _I came here for you_.

She laughed. “You prefer everyone to hear you think,” she returned. _And I think I just needed to see your face tonight_.

“Only what’s worth sharing,” he said, as they pushed their chairs back in unison. He bent and grabbed his briefcase, setting it on the table as he stood.

“You’re leaving already?” Carisi asked, and everyone at the table looked at the lieutenant.

She smiled. “I’ve had enough New Year’s Eves in the city, I think I should sit this one out. You kids be careful,” she added, earning laughter around the table.

“Take it easy, Lieutenant,” Carisi said.

“Have a good night, Liv,” Rollins added.

Benson was putting her coat on, but her sleeve was twisted. Barba pulled it up, straightening it so she could slide her arm inside. He’d already put on his suit jacket, and while Benson belted her coat and pulled on her gloves, he slipped into his coat.

He fished out his wallet and dropped a couple of bills onto the table, looking at Carisi and Rollins. “Next round’s on me,” he said.

“Here, here,” someone cheered.

“Is that a bribe, Counselor?” Carisi joked.

“You’ll have to wake up earlier in the morning if you want an admission from me, Detective,” Barba said, with a quick wink, and Carisi laughed, raising a hand to signal the server. “Ready?” he asked Benson, putting his hand to her back. She nodded and they wove their way through the crowd. He pushed the door open and held it with the briefcase in hand, his other hand still light on her back as she passed him with a smile.

Then they were on the sidewalk, surrounded by the cold night air, and she took his arm in hers, still smiling. “It’s not a bad night for Times Square,” she said. “Weather-wise.”

He looked at her as they walked. “You want to go to Times Square?” he grinned.

Laughing, she said, “Uh, no. Thanks. I meant for the people younger than us.”

He bumped his shoulder against hers, saying, “We’re not so old yet, Liv. Let’s share a cab, I’ll take my mom home if we can convince her to leave.”

“Will you walk with me for a bit?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. “Anywhere in particular?”

She shook her head. “I just feel like walking.” _With you_.

“Okay.” _Anywhere, for as long as you want_.

They walked in silence, pressed close together, drawing heat and comfort from each other. The night was cold against their faces, and they didn’t care. It was still a little early for the real celebrations to begin, but the sidewalks were busy; everyone seemed to be loud, and in a hurry, as Benson and Barba strolled in companionable silence.

They were walking against the crowds, away from the partiers, and they walked until the pedestrians thinned and the streets grew a little quieter. The cold air was stinging their eyes, numbing their noses, making them hunch their shoulders and huddle even closer together. The air seemed colder with fewer people passing by, and Benson and Barba cut into the park without comment, their steps matched and their arms linked.

They’d left nearly everyone behind, and they were both sniffing from the cold. She knew they would have to turn back soon; no matter how badly she wanted to stretch the moment, they couldn’t walk forever. It was too cold, and growing steadily later, and she had a son waiting at home.

She thought of Barba, returning to his own place—his apartment dark, silent save the tick of a clock, lonely—and she knew that he’d chosen a life of solitude in the same way she had: as a form of self-preservation. They had each made a life out of their career.

She stopped walking and started to turn toward him, but movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned her head, suddenly on high-alert. Barba, immediately noticing the change in her, also looked around. There was a small metallic sound, impossibly loud in the crisp air, and they both froze.

Benson stared at the gun pointed at her face, and the cold air seemed to settle into a ball in her stomach. She could feel Barba’s body, tensed beside her, unmoving.

 _How did I let this happen?_ she thought. _This is my fault_. Then, immediately, _you have to get him out of this_.

There were two men, both in black ski masks and dark clothes that made them all but disappear in the night—except for the gleam of their eyes and the glint of their guns. The park was well-lighted, and yet Benson noted that they were, all four of them, buried in the shadows. The men must’ve been following them, must’ve planned the moment of least visibility, and she cursed herself for letting her guard down. It was inexcusable.

“Give me the briefcase,” the closest man said. His gun was trained on Benson’s face. The other man, standing a few feet back, had his weapon held down at his side. Benson considered her options. She was carrying, but she would have to open her coat to get to it.

“Okay,” Barba said, slowly raising his arm, offering up the case.

“Let’s just stay calm,” Benson told the man, to whom she’d already begun to refer to as Perp One in her head. “Nobody’s going to cause any trouble.”

“Shut up. Move, over there,” Perp One said, gesturing off the side of the path with a flick of the gun. He grabbed Barba’s briefcase and tossed it back to Perp Two, who caught it awkwardly, nearly dropping his gun in the process. “Hurry up, go,” he said.

Benson could feel Barba’s hand on her arm. “You don’t want to do this,” she said. “Listen to me, I’m—”

“What’s in there?” Perp One asked over his shoulder.

“It’s too dark,” Perp Two answered. “It looks like just papers.”

“Legal documents,” Barba said. “What’d you expect, a briefcase full of cash?”

“Barba,” Benson said in a low voice, her gut twisting as Perp One’s bright eyes slid to the lawyer. A moment later, the gun followed the arc of the holder’s gaze, and suddenly it was Barba who was staring down the barrel. Benson shifted herself in front of him, her heart slamming in her chest as she said, managing to keep her voice calm: “Hold on. Hold on.” She held up a hand, palm-out. “You don’t need to do that.”

“You a lawyer?” Perp One asked.

“He is. And I’m a New York City police officer,” she said, speaking slowly. Perp Two had tossed the briefcase aside and was looking around, checking for witnesses, barely paying attention. If she could find a way to disarm Perp One, she thought she could get the drop on Perp Two.

“Gun?” Perp One asked her.

“Inside my coat,” she answered. “If you turn around right now and walk away—”

“Go over there. Now, or I’ll shoot your lawyer boyfriend in the face.”

“Alright. You’re in charge, here,” she said, taking a step backward. Barba moved with her, and she tried to keep her body in front of his.

“Give me your watch,” Perp One told Barba as he drove them backward, further from the path and the lights. Barba lifted his hands, the watch gleaming in the darkness, and unfastened it without argument. Perp One reached out and grabbed it, handing it back to his partner. “And wallet. Slowly. Just the lawyer, you keep your hands out,” he told Benson.

Barba pulled out his wallet and handed it over. Perp One flipped it open, holding it up to try to catch a bit of light. His gun shifted a little, but Benson—while it was difficult to tell in the darkness—thought his finger was inside the trigger guard. She had to wait for a better opportunity.

“Assistant District Attorney?” Perp One asked. “So, not just any lawyer.” He stuffed the wallet into his coat pocket. “Put your hands on your head,” he told Barba. Over his shoulder, he told his partner, “Search him. You, don’t move,” he added to Benson.

Barba put his hands up, near his head, but when Perp Two began roughly patting him down, the ADA said, through his teeth, “You’re making a big mistake.”

“I know it’s hard for lawyers to shut up, but try harder,” Perp One said. He took a step closer to Benson, pointing the gun at her face. “Now you. Keep your hands up.” He reached out and yanked her coat open. “Take it off,” he said. “Nice and slow.”

“It’s twenty degrees—” Barba started.

“It’s alright, Barba,” she cut in, keeping her eyes on Perp One. She slowly slid her coat off her shoulders and held it out to one side, both arms aloft. The cold air pressed in on her, making her shirt feel thin, insubstantial. The cold didn’t matter, though; all that mattered was getting out of this situation, by whatever means necessary.

“Get her gun, check her pockets,” Perp One said, taking her coat from her. He held the garment against his body with his elbow so he could keep the gun leveled at her face while he quickly rummaged the pockets. He found nothing; she didn’t keep personal items in her overcoat. Everything was on her person. He tossed the coat into the bushes.

She knew that Barba had to make an effort to bite back the angry words that sprang to his tongue, and she was grateful for his restraint. She kept her arms out while the man took her gun, keys, phone, wallet, and badge, emptying her pockets and belt.

“She ain’t just a cop,” Perp Two said. “Lieutenant.”

“That’s right,” Benson said, nodding. “I told you, you don’t want—”

“You said you were a police officer,” Perp One cut in, and she could hear an edge in his voice that made her skin tingle. “A lawyer and a cop? An ADA and a lieutenant. Check her ankles.”

“I don’t have a backup,” she said. “I’m off-duty.”

“You always go out off-duty with your gun and badge?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Nothing,” Perp Two said, straightening.

“You have everything,” Benson said. “All our money. You can—”

“What unit are you?”

“Manhattan SVU,” she answered.

“Special victims?” Perp One said.

She suppressed a shiver that wasn’t caused by the cold. In fact, she was barely aware of the chill. She was focused on Perp One, and her instincts told her that something had changed. This might have started as a robbery, but it was about to become something more.

Perp One stepped forward, and the nose of his gun was cold against her skin, cold enough to burn, as he used it to nudge her chin up. “All day, every day, you listen to people talk about being raped,” he said, his voice a low caress, his masked face close enough for her to smell the menthol on his breath. “You look at pictures, you go over all the details. All the _trauma_ , all the _humiliation_. The pain. Violence. Helplessness. Shame.”

“Stop it,” Barba hissed.

“You probably tell them you understand how it feels, what they’re going through. Have you ever been raped, Lieutenant?”

She swallowed. “No,” she said.

“No,” Perp One breathed, lowering his gun to the top button of her shirt. “You’ve been close, I’ll bet. You’ve done this a long time, I can tell. You don’t get to be a female lieutenant without paying some dues. This isn’t the first time you’ve had a gun pointed at you.”

“No.”

“No,” he agreed. “I’m sure you’ve had a few moments where you thought, this is it. It’s all over. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe times you thought you were going to be raped.”

She lifted her chin. “Yes,” she said.

“But here you are. You’re a survivor, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”

She didn’t answer.

“Have you ever seen anyone raped? You tell them you understand. You probably think you do, after all you’ve seen and heard, but…have you ever seen it happen? Have you ever seen the look on their face, heard the pain and fear in their voice as they begged for mercy?”

“I’ve heard it,” she said through numb lips. “I was handcuffed in the next room.”

“That must’ve been horrible for you, hearing the cries for help, knowing you could do nothing.”

“Yes.”

“Lucky, maybe, that you couldn’t see the look on her face, the damnation in her eyes when she realized you wouldn’t save her. Maybe you could’ve tried just a little bit harder, done just a little bit more.”

“I got her out alive,” Benson said.

“Is that all that matters?”

“That’s what’s most important,” she answered.

“Do the victims always agree? Don’t they ever think death would’ve been better? Well, I guess time heals all wounds, right? Take a step back.”

She did, hands still partly raised.

With his gun pointed at her, Perp One looked at Barba and said, “Take off your coat.”

“You already searched him,” Benson said, as Barba shot her a quick look in a flare of moonlight.

“Point your gun at her head, if she takes one step forward, shoot her,” Perp One told his partner, who quickly raised his own weapon toward Benson’s face. Perp One turned his gun on Barba. “Take it off.” Barba stripped his coat off and tossed it aside with an angry flick of his wrist, his posture defiant as he glared at the masked man. “And the blazer,” the man said. Barba pulled it off with jerky movements and flung it away.

“We should go,” Perp Two said. “Someone could—”

“Hush. On your knees, Mr. Bigshot Lawyer.”

“We’re not doing this,” Benson said.

“If she moves, shoot her,” Perp One reiterated with barely a glance in their direction. His attention was focused on Barba, who was standing with his hands fisted at his sides, his shirt bright in the moonlight, breathing heavily through his nose. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

“You’ll have to kill me,” Barba said, his voice low and gravelly. Benson knew that his eyes were flashing, and the gun pointed at him was terrifying to her—far more terrifying than the one pointed at her.

Perp One laughed, a mean sound, and looked at Benson. “Maybe I was right?” he suggested. “Let’s see.” He stepped forward and pressed the gun against Barba’s forehead with enough pressure to tilt his head back.

“Please,” Benson said. She wasn’t accustomed to begging, but the words poured from her: “Please, don’t do this, please.”

The gunman waited, giving Barba a few moments to wrap his head around the situation, before saying, “I will kill you. Do you want to die tonight? Do you want your friends in the police department to scrape your brains from the grass while the rest of the city celebrates the start of a new year? Get on your knees.”

“You sound like a smart guy,” Barba said through his teeth, his eyes gleaming. “You have to know, this doesn’t end well for you.”

“Get down.”

“No,” Barba answered.

Benson felt like her heart was going to explode in her chest. She could barely breathe; her stomach churned with fear.

Perp One looked at her, again. “He thinks death is better. Does that sort of disagreement throw a wrench into your relationship?” He turned his gun on her. She cut a quick glance toward Barba. She didn’t want him to try anything. Perp One had a second gun, now—hers—stowed in his waistband. She and Barba had to keep their heads and make it out of this alive.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” she said. “You have all the power, here. You can put an end to this before it goes too far.”

“Mr. ADA,” Perp One said, tipping his head. “I will shoot her in front of you. I’ll leave you alive so you can watch her die, right here, shivering in the park. You can tell her family, if she has any, that you had the power to save her and didn’t. What do you think? Is her death better?”

Barba’s throat worked. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“Unless you want to watch her die, get on your knees.”

Barba looked at her, and she shook her head, tears burning her eyes. “We’re not doing this,” she repeated.

Barba pulled in a shaky breath and slowly sank to his knees on the frosty grass.

“No, _no_ ,” she said, starting forward in spite of the guns. Barba held a hand out in her direction even as Perp Two grabbed her arm and yanked her backward. “ _Stop it_ ,” she said.

“Keep your voice down,” Perp Two hissed through his mask.

“No, alright, listen, you don’t need to do this, you’ve made your point. Let him go, keep me here. Okay? Alright? Let’s talk about this. He doesn’t need to be a part of this, this is between you and me.”

“Don’t you get it?” Perp One said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s about you having to _watch_. Get up,” he told Barba. “Come on, come on, up. Don’t look at me like that, you think I’d give you the chance to bite my dick off? Get up.”

Barba rose as slowly as he’d knelt. Even from several feet away, Benson could feel the emotions coming off him in waves—the fear, the embarrassment, the sense of helplessness, the anger that was making his body tremble. Perp One reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him toward a nearby tree. Barba stumbled, catching himself against the rough bark, and Perp One shoved him against the trunk, stepping close behind him.

“My buddy _will_ kill her,” he hissed in Barba’s ear, yanking at the suspender clips hard enough to tear them from Barba waist with the sound of ripping fabric. “Keep your hands on the tree,” he said. Sliding his gun into his pocket, he looked at his partner. “Keep your gun on her. I’m not kidding. If she makes a move—”

“Take me,” Benson said. “Let him go and I’ll stay here with you. I’ll do whatever—I won’t fight you,” she said. The words were like acid on her tongue, but they were nothing compared to the fire burning in her gut. She wasn’t going to let this happen. They would have to kill her. Perp One had two weapons, both of them stowed. The gun pointed at her was less than steady. She might have a chance.

Reaching toward Barba’s crotch, Perp One popped the button off the front of the lawyer’s trousers and jerked Barba’s pants down to his knees; the suspenders slid up and over his shoulders, slumping toward the ground. Perp One reached for his own fly. He pushed Barba’s head against the tree and kicked his feet apart on the grass.

“You’ll have to kill me,” Benson said, moving forward.

“Stop,” Perp Two told her. He reached for her arm, and as his body twisted, his weapon slipped from its target. She didn’t hesitate—she couldn’t hesitate, because there wouldn’t be another chance. She sidestepped toward him, surprising him, and brought her elbow down on his arm, grabbing the gun from his suddenly-weak fingers. She drove her fist into his nose, feeling the crunch of bone; he crumpled to the ground, his hands over his mask.

It all took just a handful of heartbeats, a few seconds, but Perp One had his gun out of his pocket even as she turned toward him. “Stop,” she said, but she saw everything unfolding in slow motion. She aimed and fired; three gunshots tore through the night in quick succession. Two of them were hers. One caught the perp in the shoulder, partly spinning him; the other hit him in the chest, sending him backward. From the corner of her eye, she saw Barba, his back now to the tree, leaning against the trunk. His pants were around his ankles, now, his shirt hanging to his upper thighs; the front of that shirt was darkening with blood.

She couldn’t look at him. Only seconds had passed, and Perp One was still on his feet, facing her, raising his gun. She shot him in the chest again, once, twice, and he finally went down. She walked over to him and stepped on his wrist, bending to take his gun. She reached into his waistband and retrieved hers. He didn’t fight her; his breaths were wet as he choked on his own blood. She looked back at Perp Two. He was conscious, but hadn’t moved, still clutching his face. She didn’t have handcuffs, or even zip-ties.

She looked at Barba, terrified of what she would see. He was still on his feet, somehow. He was bent, one hand clutching at his side while he struggled to pull up his pants with the other. She hurried over to him.

“Raf,” she said. “Let me—oh my god. Here.” She helped him pull his pants up, and said, “Sit down. Sit down. Keep pressure on—I need to find my phone,” she said, setting the guns by his leg.

She went to Perp Two and rummaged through his pockets; he didn’t resist. She also snatched up Barba’s jacket and coat and was back at his side even as she dialed. She gave dispatch her badge number and their location, but she was distracted. Barba’s head was lolling forward, and she put her hand under his chin, lifting his face.

“Stay with me, Rafa,” she said. “They’ll be here soon.” She was kneeling beside him. He was shivering. She leaned him forward, putting his coat over his shoulders. He hissed in a breath and his eyes rolled toward her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is going to be worse,” she added, folding his blazer. She lifted his hand and pressed the jacket against the gunshot, wincing at his sound of pain. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, pushing harder. Her phone was lying on the grass by her side, the line open; both attackers were alive and unrestrained—although one was surely close to death—but all of her attention was on Barba.

“Ruined my suit,” he murmured, and she saw his lips curve into the ghost of a smile.

“I’ll buy you another,” she said.

“Can’t afford it,” he said, and she saw him grimace as he tried to shift.

“Stay still,” she told him. “You can buy your own damn suit, then. Rafael. Look at me,” she said when his eyelids drooped. “Open your eyes.” She saw people coming through the park, heading cautiously toward the sounds of gunfire. “NYPD!” she called. To Barba: “Stay with me, Rafa.”

“Not leaving,” he murmured, shivering.

“No, you’re not. Promise me,” she said.

“Livia…”

“Promise me,” she repeated, barely aware of the tears burning her cold cheeks.

“Love you.”

“Don’t leave me, Rafa, I need you,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Promise,” he whispered.

 

 

 

“Liv, do you want me to take Noah?” Rollins asked in a hushed voice. “I can take him back to my place. Jesse’s sitter said she can stay the night.”

“No,” Benson said, looking at her son. He was curled up with his head in Lucia Barba’s lap, sleeping. Lucia had a book opened, but her eyes were unfocused, and Benson knew that she wasn’t really reading. All of them were waiting for word that Barba had regained consciousness. He was out of surgery, but Benson wouldn’t take an easy breath until she could look into his eyes for herself. “I need him close,” she said. “Thank you, Amanda. You guys can head home, I’ll call—”

“We’re not leaving, Liv,” Fin said. He was sitting beside Melinda, who nodded in agreement.

“We’re here for Barba,” Carisi agreed.

“Rafael is lucky to have you all as friends,” Lucia said, quietly. She looked up at Benson and added, “Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry this happened,” Benson told her, her throat thick with emotion.

“My son trusts you completely, Lieutenant Benson,” Lucia said. “He trusts no one. Whatever happened, I know he’s here because of you.”

Before Benson could answer, a nurse appeared in the waiting room. “Mrs. Barba?” she asked, her gaze flicking from Benson to Lucia.

Benson pointed toward the older woman. “She’s Rafael’s mother,” she said.

Rollins went to sit with Noah, who was blinking around the room, as Lucia got to her feet.

“You can go in to see him for a few minutes. He’s going to be a little groggy.”

“I want to see Uncle Rafi,” Noah said.

“I’m sure he wants to see you,” Lucia answered with a smile, motioning him forward. The boy hurried to her side.

“I’m sorry, only one person—” the nurse started, but she broke off at the look that Lucia shot her.

“My son almost died,” she said. “He needs to see his family. If you want to stop us, you can send security in here to chat with the NYPD.”

Benson grinned in spite of herself, looking around at her tired detectives. Their presence, their support, meant the world to her; so did Lucia’s declaration that she was family. And Noah’s small hand, sliding into Benson’s, was the best balm her raw emotions could hope for. Still, she wanted, needed, to see Barba.

“Alright,” the nurse said. “But only for a few minutes, and he needs rest. No stress.”

“I think I know how to take care of my son, thank you,” Barba’s mother answered. The nurse sighed and led them down the hall.

Benson and Noah, hand in hand, followed Lucia into Barba’s room. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of their steps, and Benson felt a rush of relief that made her knees weak. His green gaze, cloudy from anesthesia, found his mother, and then Noah, and settled onto Benson.

His lips curving into a smile, he said, his voice hoarse, “Promised.”

She let out a breath, giving a single nod, smiling.

“ _Mami_ ,” Barba murmured as his mother bent to kiss his forehead. “I’m alright.”

“Of course you are, _mijo_ ,” she answered. “Young Noah and I were just in the neighborhood, anyway, thought we’d stop by,” she said, winking at the boy.

Noah glanced up at his mother for permission, and Benson nodded. Noah stepped forward. “Are you okay, Uncle Rafi?” he asked, going to the edge of the bed.

Barba lifted a hand and ruffled the boy’s hair, earning himself a smile. “I’ll be good as new in no time, buddy,” he said. “It’s late, though. You should get back to bed.”

Benson moved closer, and Barba’s gaze slid up to hers. “We’ll let you get some rest,” she said. “We just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.” She wanted desperately to touch him; she saw his eyes soften, saw the emotion in the lines of his face. She didn’t want to leave his side, but he was right. It was nearly midnight, and Noah should be home in bed. Lucia would let her know if anything happened, and Benson had to console herself with the knowledge that she could return in the morning to check on him.

“Mr. Noah and I have already agreed that we’re not done having fun. Right?” Lucia asked the boy.

“Right,” he agreed, grinning.

“You don’t have—”

“Nonsense, I won’t hear another word,” Lucia cut in. “I’m taking him home and sending all those half-drunk cops—and Melinda, what is she? Medical Examiner?—home, too. All this fuss when he’s clearly fine,” she added, smiling at her son, unable to keep the love and worry from her eyes. She looked back at Benson. “You stay,” she said.

Benson looked at Barba; their eyes met, and her breath caught.

“Stay,” he said, barely above a whisper.

She nodded, pressing her lips together, and saw his body relax. While she kissed her son, and hugged Lucia, Barba’s eyes drifted closed, and his breaths evened out. In a minute, Benson was alone with him, and she watched his peaceful expression for a bit, overwhelmed by her love for him—and her relief. She knew that he was going to have to deal with the aftermath of everything that had happened—and everything that had _nearly_ happened—but for now, what mattered was that he was alive and safe.

She moved the chair beside the bed, as quietly as she could, and lowered herself into it with a wince. She was sore; although uninjured, the cold had made her joints stiff and her muscles achy. She looked up to find Barba watching her from beneath his lashes.

“You okay?” he asked, quietly.

She leaned forward and took his hand in both of hers. “Am I okay?” she said. “You’re the one who was shot.”

“Was IAB here?”

“I talked to them but if they want anything else from me, they’re going to have to wait until tomorrow,” she said. “How do you feel?”

His lips twisted into his familiar smirk. “I’ll be gavotting in no time.”

“You’ll have to teach me,” she answered, softly.

“We can gavotte, or…” he gave his head a little shake on the pillow. “Or _balter_ , for all I care,” he said. “Liv, I know that we’ve been putting off having this—”

“Rafa, you don’t have to—”

“I’m sorry, Liv,” he said. “I’m sorry if you’re not ready to hear it but I need to say it. We’ve been waiting for the right time, in our lives, in our careers…But it’s been the right time all along. I think we were both just too scared of screwing it up. Yogi Berra said ‘you don’t have to swing hard to hit a home run. If you got the timing, it’ll go.’ That’s us, Liv. We don’t have to be afraid, not when it’s you and me. It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

She struggled to swallow the lump in her throat and said, hoarsely, “I know you’re still drugged up, Rafa, but Yogi Berra?”

His expression was serious, and he said, “I don’t keep secrets from you, Liv, not ever. You have to know how I feel.”

“I do know,” she answered, squeezing his hand. “I love you, too, Rafa. I can’t lose you. I was so scared…”

“You’re not alone,” he whispered. “Salvador Dali said, ‘have no fear of perfection—you’ll never reach it.’ But he never met you, Olivia.”

She gave a little laugh, an exasperated sound. “Is there an occasion you _don’t_ have a quote for?” she asked.

“I love you, Liv,” he said. “Those words are all mine.”

She pulled in a shaky breath and smiled. From the hallway, she heard the hospital staff counting down, and she glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s midnight,” she said. She leaned forward, holding his hand, holding his bright gaze. “The new year starts now,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his.


End file.
